Chapter Text
“Fire Department, call out!” The smoke was getting thicker by the minute. Casey kicked in the last door in the line, being fully aware it was about time to get out.
“Fire Department! Anyone here?”
He roamed the apartment. Floor, kitchen. Living room. Main bedroom. There was a figure on the bed, and he stepped closer.
“Don't move.”
Something in the voice made him freeze. From the corner of his eye, Casey saw the guy appear behind the door, gun in his hand. He was about his height and build, blonde hair, growing beard.
“Listen, we got to get out of here.” Casey slowly turned around to face him, trying to reason.
“I said, don’t move.” Eyes hard and cold. Casey raised his hands, always thinking about the figure on the bed behind him. “This place is about to be cooked. All I want is to get you out of here. Not interested in whatever has been going on.” His radio crackled. The chief’s deep voice. “Okay, everyone, I’m calling it. Squad, Truck, evacuate.” Casey could see the smoke waving through the corridor. His hand grabbed for the radio on instinct.
“Don't even think about it.” The gun pressed against his temple. The guy coughed a little, eyes beginning to water.
“Look, you can’t stay here. If the smoke’s not killing you, then the heat will.”
“Well then, how about you give me your gear.”
“What?”
“You heard me, fireman.” The gun clicked, pressing against his forehead now.
“I can get you out of here. No questions asked.”
“Stop talking, lose your gear!” the man yelled. “Or do you want to end up like them?” He grabbed Casey’s shoulder, roughly turning him around. Pushed him towards the bed, and now Casey saw. There were two bodies. Tied to the bed. Blood covering their faces and chests. He felt bile rise in his throat.
“Now, don’t waste my time, strip off your gear.”
“Casey, report.” Boden’s voice. He barely heard it through the blood rushing in his ears. The cold metal of the gun pressing against his neck, he took his helmet and mask off with trembling hands, pulled the straps of the oxygen tank off his shoulders. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the two people on the bed. Murdered, brutally.
The air burned in his lungs immediately. The smoke was getting thicker by the minute. “Casey, report! Casey!”
“Coat and pants too”, the guy demanded. He obeyed, feeling the gun against the back of his head now. Once all his gear was discarded on the floor, the guy stepped around and took something off the bed, a piece of rope. Casey swallowed hard.
“Let’s just walk out of here”, he pleaded, desperately. “You can disappear before the fire’s put out… I swear I won’t say a thing, I don’t even know who you are…” He coughed. The smoke was burning in his airway.
“Shut up”, the guy growled. “Hands on your back.”
For a second, he thought about fighting it. Better shot quickly than be tied up to be killed by the smoke. Or walk out of here as a hostage.
The cold metal of the gun pressed into his neck. Casey closed his eyes. He didn’t want to die. Not when he’d just found a spark of happiness. Slowly, he put his hands on his back.
The guy was prepared. There was a noose tied into the rope and he slipped it around Casey’s wrists with one hand and pulled it tight while the other still pressed the gun against his neck. Only with the firefighter’s hands trapped behind his back he put the gun away and finished binding him, quick and efficient like he had a lot of practice in that. With his wrists bound and rope going over his chest, trapping his upper arms, Casey was forced to the floor with his back against the bed, and he was tied to the bed post. Slow death it is then. The smoke already made his eyes water. He should have tried something, tried to disarm the guy. He’d been considering too long, lost his chance.
Rope was slung around his head, tied into his mouth, over his eyes. It was unnecessary and just cruel, hurting and leaving him seeing nothing but shadows. He heard the guy shuffle into his gear. He felt him grab for his legs and tie his ankles and wondered what for. It wasn’t as if he was going anywhere.
Casey always knew there was a possibility to die on the job. That one day, he might walk into a fire and not make it out. But he’d never thought it would happen like this.
Boden bared his teeth, eyes glued to the entrance and thumb on the radio. The smoke over the building was slowly blackening. If Casey didn't show up soon…
Just when he was about to call it, a figure stumbled out. Finally.
He would need to remind his captain of the meaning of report though. Didn't look like he’d been impaired. Casey was coughing but didn't seem in a hurry to take off his SCBA, slowly walking towards the rigs.
“Casey!” Boden barked. He had to repeat it before the captain reacted, blinking confused. “Is everybody out?” Boden asked sternly.
“Oh – yeah, sure. Everybody out.” His voice was very scratchy, and he coughed again. Boden made a mental note to have him checked out once the fire was knocked down. Turning towards the building, he ordered, “Alright, 51, give it all you got.”
If his mind hadn’t still been focused on the task at hand, if it hadn't been so loud due to the roaring flames and the shouting all around, he might have noticed Casey hadn’t sounded like Casey at all.
He managed to get behind one of the rigs, out of sight from everyone. So far, so good. Now, he only needed to get rid of the gear and disappear. He grabbed for the mask and ripped it off. His adrenaline was running high, and he smiled a little.
Some of the firefighters were still pretty busy, while others seemingly took a break, watching the action, drinking water, or sitting on the bumpers for a rest. Some woman had put a water bottle in his hand in passing. Well, he could certainly need it.
In the shadow of the rig, he shed the heavy coat and pants. Carefully waiting for the right moment, he ducked out, crossing the street, leaving the scene. Nobody took notice of him, and his smile grew wider. The cough building up in his chest was a bit annoying, but it would pass. It couldn't dampen his high. The only downer was that he didn't have time to watch the firefighter. Watch him struggle in his bonds while the panic rose, while he realised that he would die. Watch him fight for his breath, thrashing his head in a pointless attempt to get rid of the rope bound around it, digging into his mouth, chafing his cheeks at the moving, hurting his eyes.
If he’d had more time, he would have tied him up some more, would have his whole body bound, tightly, rope cutting into his fair skin. It really was a shame he didn't have the chance to take his time with him. Watch him fight and protest. Hurt him, a little at first and then gradually more. Graze his knife over his face, his chest, his legs while he writhed and let out muffled screams. The imagination made him shudder, and he licked his lips. Funny how the guy had resembled him. He sure would have been worth having fun with for a little longer, maybe a day or even two.
But well, he would have to live with the images he had, and his imagination of the fireman slowly suffocating in the smoke. Those were pretty good after all.
Casey could feel the fire closing in. He couldn’t really see it, the rope over his eyes did not completely blind him, but it pressed down painfully over his eyeballs, and he rather kept his eyes closed. He couldn’t move his head that much anyway; it was tied off against the bedpost just like his upper body.
He had struggled and pulled at the ropes with all his might, but the strength was leaving him fast while the dark smoke filled his lungs. He could barely breathe as it was, rope tied into his mouth and airways swelling shut from the heat and useless screams.
At least he would be unconscious by the time the flames reached him. It was a small consolation.